


a winter jacket and a paper heart

by DeeNotMe, watermelonsenpai



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A little bit of angst, Breakup, Collaboration, Hurt/Comfort, Just a silly little thing, M/M, Minor Michimiya Yui/Sawamura Daichi, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Attraction, Rejection, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unrequited DaiSuga, Unrequited Love, Winter, and a little bit of fluff, cold parks at dusk, haha it's summer now though, how do i deserve these people, i love friends, idk bros, is that counted?, mentions of michimiya yui, oisuga, one-sided daisuga, one-sided sawamura daichi/sugawara koushi, refreshing-kun, sequel coming soon?, to heal shattered glass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-11-10 01:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11117166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeeNotMe/pseuds/DeeNotMe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/watermelonsenpai/pseuds/watermelonsenpai
Summary: well.it is a cold winter day, when the streets are dead silent and there is no sign of life anywhere. just the snow, the biting cold and two people who meet on opposite sides of the street.glass is beautiful and delicate, but it will break and shatter and leave him breathless with no words left to say. it shatters and leaves this pain somewhere in his chest that doesn't go away and he tears. it will cut and harm and he will bleed from holding it too tightly and he's a coward. the waiting game begins.miyagi has never been the best place to be in the winter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tokyoite_dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyoite_dreams/gifts), [AkaHoshizora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaHoshizora/gifts), [jungkooktrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungkooktrash/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hey it's watermelon here and here's a collab with a writing buddy DeeNotMe or just Dee for short honestly this was just a fun writing spree in which two people were like "hECK YEAH LET'S WRITE" and this. this is it. i'm really grateful for friends like these whoop!! so enjoy this uhh whatever this is hahhaahaAAHAH
> 
> also. be prepared for terrible narrative that's written by me and awesome dialogue by Dee.

It's quiet. The only sounds that keep him company as he walks aimlessly is the crunch of snow under his feet. His breath mists in the cool air, and there’s a sort of calm that he likes in this silence - silence that comes only under a cloak of darkness, one the night sky casts after the sun creeps behind the horizon that lies far beyond him. It’s when even the busiest cities crawl into its slumber, and its residents subject themselves to sleep.

 

But perhaps not all of them, he muses. He walks the streets abandoned by the life of humans, after all.

 

His hands, white-knuckled and trembling ever-so-slightly, hold an empty can of coffee dispensed by a vending machine; even now that he’s walked away from it, he can still see the dim, white glow that its fluorescent lights casts on the pale snow. The coffee gives him a mild, caffeine-induced buzz (perhaps not for the best if he looks at the dark sky) and he watches as the last car on the streets whizzes past in a flurry of snow and exhaust. Today is not a day when his friends accompany him on a walk home; today is silent and unforgiving and bitterly freezing, he thinks as he feels the tip of his nose turning red. He sighs. Miyagi has never been the best place to be in winter. 

 

So he buries his nose in the scarf around his neck, coming to a stop beneath a lone streetlight. He’s bundled in clothing to prevent the cold from seeping deep into his body, but he swears he still feels the breeze - now safeguarded from the unrelenting sun - penetrate his bones. Faintly, he registers that he feels cold, but it doesn’t truly reach his heart for reasons he doesn’t know. It runs through his hair, the cowlicked strands flying off his head in chocolate waves and curls. Maybe he should have worn a windbreaker.

 

He hums a pop song (albeit faintly from the way his lips freeze and his vocal cords warble) in time to his footsteps crunching on the ice, and almost misses the person on the opposite side of the street. Which is weird, considering the person's face-flat on the pavement and also mumbling the silhouettes of curses under his breath that echo loudly on such a quiet night as this. His hair almost blends into the snow, with flecks of silvery grey and as the fallen boy stands up he recognises his face. _Refreshing-kun_. Said person sighs (breath billowing out of chapped lips), salvaging what he can of his spilt coffee, which is to say nothing but the soggy remains of his cardboard cup. The coffee taints the snow a weird brown and he sighs again. Oikawa tries to hold his tongue, but ends up shouting “Refreshing-kun!” far louder than he intended to, and it echoes horribly, embarrassingly loud. He’s a man of culture, okay?

 

Thankfully, the grey-haired teen (what was his name again?) seems too caught up in his own embarrassment to tease Oikawa about his. Instead, he freezes, and it’s with cheeks dusted with pink that he glances up. He tries to brush off the snow on his sweater in a smooth motion, but it’s probably not as discreet as he’d like, because Oikawa’s gaze drops to the wet patches that are now on the cotton, lips tilting up in an amused grin. He shakes his head - pieces of snow flying from his hair in the process - as if to say ‘let’s not talk about that’, and Oikawa can’t help himself. Laughter bubbles up from his throat, almost too bright for their dark surroundings, as he crosses the street and steps up onto the pavement a few feet away.

 

“What brings you here tonight, Oikawa-san?” Refreshing-kun ever the gentleman to start polite, civil conversation (but it’s not like Oikawa is _incapable_ of that), returning his laughter back with a gentle, light laugh that sounds like snowfall if its grace and beauty could be transcripted into a music box melody.

 

The soggy cardboard cup is artfully hidden behind his back with one hand, jacket zipped up with the other to hide the patches of melted snow (and at this thought Oikawa thinks that Refreshing-kun’s smile could probably melt winter). It is strange on a night where no being seems to exist on the streets, strange on a night where there should not be school, strange on a night where life sleeps and everything fades to white, that these two should cross paths.  

 

“What brings you here tonight?” Refreshing-kun repeats his question again.

 

 _What brought him here tonight?_ Oikawa repeats the question dumbly in his head, glancing back at the streetlamp that he had been standing under. “Keeping the lamppost company, it seems. It looked lonely.” There isn’t a real reason for it, just jittery from lack of volleyball practice, he continues to tell Refreshing-kun.

 

Soft laughter comes from him, and Oikawa turns back to see him cover his mouth behind his hand, eyes the colour of mocha twinkling dimly in the night. A passing thought, that they looked just as pretty as the stars hanging in the sky, crosses Oikawa’s mind. For a moment, he stares at him, and when Refreshing-kun tilts his head in puzzlement, he shakes it off. 

 

 _Why are his eyes red?_ Refreshing-kun’s eyes have vessels of blood red creeping up the edges and Oikawa is pretty sure it’s not the snow that got in his eyes. His smiles, while warm, don’t have the cotton-ball feeling they usually do (he’s had his eye on him during matches and the feeling in his chest is light and all cotton candy when Refreshing-kun smiles) and the corners of his mouth turn down slightly. Something’s wrong (though perhaps anyone who was looking closely could see that). Oikawa could give Refreshing-kun an Oscar - heck, a _million_ Oscars - for his acting; he was almost fooled by the smile and harmless demeanour.

 

“What about you, Refreshing-kun-?” 

 

“Sugawara Koushi. Sugawara as in ‘sedge plain’ and Koushi as in ‘supporting elders’.” 

 

 _Oh_. Oikawa blinks (that’s a beautiful name), smiling in a way that Iwa-chan would describe as apologetic-but-not (he’s never been good at naming things).

 

“It’s too late to see…” Oikawa searches for the name to match the face of a reliable captain he’s seen on the opposite side of the court, but doesn’t find it even in the dusty corners of his mind. “Captain-kun now, isn’t it?”

 

And since Oikawa’s intuition is spot on, Refreshing-kun’s eyes search everywhere except his face: his boots, the glaring streetlight, the parked, snow-blanketed van a way off behind Oikawa, anything to avoid the question. It’s almost (if he does say so himself) endearing to watch Refreshing-kun squirm under such a simple question. But Oikawa has to know why, why _why_ and -

 

“....got rejected. Thought I’d take a walk,” the answer comes out in a cloud of white, hot breath and mumbling, cracked-open lips.

 

“A-ah, that...” is the only thing that comes out of Oikawa’s mouth, the setter too stunned to react any other way (absentmindedly, he recalls that he hasn’t stuttered for ages until now). _Refreshing-kun, rejected?_ He finishes his sentence lamely. “Sucks.” What else can he say? The words don’t come to him fast enough for him to use them.

 

Refreshing-kun toes the ground, digging a small pit in the pearly white snow. “I guess it does.”  

 

At least he’s still smiling (perhaps it’s a little bitter, but a smile is a smile, right?). Oikawa isn’t the best at comforting others; often it’s the other way around with Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan would say that Oikawa was just good at manipulating others. So instead of trying to find the words to make him feel better, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

 

“Mind telling me what happened? We can walk and talk...” (Well, it occurs to Oikawa seconds later that that may not be the best thing to ask right now.)

 

Refreshing-kun remains silent for a while, and just when Oikawa thinks he run away and hate him for the rest of his life, he directs that small smile to Oikawa. “Yeah, I mind telling you, a little-”

 

_Great, Oikawa, you messed up-_

 

“But I don’t mind someone to walk with.”

 

Refreshing-kun throws his cardboard cup into the nearby rubbish bin and motions for Oikawa to follow him with a casual wave of his hand and a wan smile on his cheeks. He really wants to bombard him with questions - _Who rejected you? Why? How? Do I know who this person is? Are you alright?_ \- and on second thought the last question seems fine.

 

“Are you alright?” He asks as Oikawa settles in a light jog to catch up to Refreshing-kun who has gotten ahead of him.

 

“I’d be lying if I said I was, but I will be, so don’t worry,” he throws over his shoulder.

 

Oikawa can see the way Refreshing-kun - _Sugawara Koushi_ \- keeps threading his gloved fingers behind his back though, and doesn’t push for a concrete answer just yet. He realises that while _Kou-chan_ may be the one his team relies on more than even Captain-kun sometimes, he is but a boy that has a heart.

 

And in these few, fleeting moments, it seems to be made of paper, or the wreathing mist around them as Oikawa puffs out a few more breaths. Fragile. Gentle. _Vulnerable._

 

He sharply turns into a park and Oikawa almost loses him. Winter makes everything pretty, was what he used to think all the time. But at night, when everything seems to wash off their masks, the world looks just a little colder. The trees have all rested their blooms into the earth and there really isn’t anything to see except pathetic, bare branches devoid of their usual leaves - he hasn’t forgotten the burst of colour when Autumn had come - and snow everywhere but then Kou-chan starts talking. 

 

“You know, when you get rejected by someone you’ve liked since the start of high school - hell maybe even middle school - it blows. It really does.” He shrugs, jacket rustling as he dusts the snow from the bench in a deserted corner of the park and sits down. Oikawa follows, albeit hesitantly. Doesn’t dare to say anything, because one word from him could make Kou-chan clam up quicker than he can paint a smile on his face.

 

“But I guess it doesn’t hurt too bad. Not like those bone-crushing, heart-wrenching, over-the-top rejections you read in manga or romance novels. Maybe I didn’t really like him.”

 

 _Him?_ Oikawa almost jolts up straight. That’s a surprise. With how pretty Kou-chan looks, he’d have guessed it was a girl or something. His brain scrambles for something to say, and in the surprised state he’s in, he settles with anything he can find. Something Iwa-chan told him, once.

 

“Infatuations only last for three months, though.”

 

Kou-chan glances at Oikawa, and he surprises him by laughing, breath appearing in the air like white and wispy clouds only to disappear. Oikawa only blinks at the grey-haired setter. Did he say something weird? Right, he did.

 

Kou-chan raises a glove-covered finger to his eye, as if rubbing at the invisible tears. “They typically last from one to six months, you know.” _But you’ve loved him longer than that, haven’t you?_ The thought stays unspoken, hung in the air like the growing tension between them. _You loved him too much._

 

“Daichi and I used to sit here and feed the pigeons. Especially this one pigeon we used to call… What was his name? Fatty?” _Daichi….Captain-kun?_ The change in topic is jarring, and Oikawa almost says ‘ _so what?’_ until he sees Kou-chan’s cappuccino-coloured eyes glass over, see the way his lips tremble and press into a line, the way his shoulders hunch over just a little more. _Oh. Oh._

 

 

_Refreshing-kun -_

_Sugawara Koushi_

_in love with_

_Captain-kun_

_Daichi._

 

_Kou-chan_

_rejected._

 

 

“Oh.” There isn’t anything to say, or anything in Oikawa’s mind right now. There’s nothing that can be said, is there? But perhaps it’s better (easier, but Oikawa tries to stifle that thought) that he says nothing. _People sometimes just need others to listen,_ his grandmother used to tell him. So he listens, as Kou-chan sucks in another breath to continue the story. _You have two ears and one mouth, Oikawa Tooru. Put them to good use._

 

“....I confessed to him with all that stupid bravado, doing it on his doorstep. I even had a bouquet of roses and chocolates and everything. I confessed to him and I don’t know why it hurts, Tooru ( _Tooru?_ ) it _hurts-_ ” 

 

Kou-chan isn’t even trying to hide the fact that he’s ranting now, and Oikawa can see the reflection of the tiniest teardrops on his cheeks, he can see how each sentence he says is becoming muddled up with sobs at the back of his throat yet to be released, the way Kou-chan’s gloves grip onto Oikawa’s with a force that comes from nowhere. Sugawara Koushi is sad - devastated. And Oikawa has never seen that before. It makes his own heart wrench and makes him taste bile in his throat.

 

“He could have been _less caring_ with how he rejected me - I mean - he was so _nice_ and he told me he was going out with _Michimiya_ and _the least he could do was make me hate him and move on, right-_ ” And if Oikawa’s never heard Kou-chan scream, he does now.

 

It sounds _terrible_ , like a wounded, dying animal or perhaps the sorrow of a boy who got his heart crushed in all the worst ways. It sounds like years of unrequited love screeching to a startling stop and years of yearning blocked, forever. _Love burns, doesn’t it?_ Oikawa can only feel helpless as he rubs circles into Kou-chan’s back as he starts to curl into himself. And Kou-chan’s sorrow has a way of tearing people into pieces that leaves Oikawa dizzy, breathless and stricken. It leaves wreckage that burns forever and the hapless remains of what one may call a heart.

 

Kou-chan’s breathing slows, tears wept and voice left cracked ( _just like his heart, Oikawa thinks_ ). Nothing can be said anymore, all lulls in conversation filled with white noise and louder thoughts that thrum in each other’s heads like war drums. Oikawa hears the blood rush in his ears, noisy and fast and he distracts himself with the trance-like feeling.

 

The silence is deafening, and Oikawa tries not to think about how cute Kou-chan is now, tries not to think about how his head is leaning into the crook of his neck and _tries not to think_ about how much he wants to press his lips against his and see how his feel like (chapped, probably; the winds have not been forgiving as of late) .

 

 _He’s safe in my arms._ The simple thought washes over Oikawa like pastel sunshine and calm ocean waves, calming every single bundle of nerves that has accumulated over this whole incident.

 

Now that the adrenaline has faded, Oikawa feels the pinch of cold weather seep into his muscles and bones, shivering as he wraps around Kou-chan (who feels like some sort of human space heater). And also hopes that he doesn’t notice that he’s leeching off of his warmth. He marvels at how Kou-chan doesn’t even shiver in the cold temperature, and now that he thinks about it, it’s probably well into the night by now, freezing winds sweeping in along with the longer, darker shadows.

 

“... Hey Kou-chan. Don’t you think it’s cold?”

 

Kou-chan raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to give you my jacket or something?”

 

“What, no!” Oikawa objects violently, because that’s not what he meant - not at all, but then he thinks of Kou-chan’s red-velvet-cupcake scent on his shoulders and has to try not to let the flush that comes to his cheeks show.

 

Kou-chan sighs, and it’s with grace that he unzips his jacket and shrugs out of it. “Just take it, I think I’m warm enough.”

 

His smile seems to suggest that there’s more to the end of that sentence - _you’d know that, wouldn’t you?_ \- and Oikawa can see the little sparkle in his eye return again, though dim and miniscule. But the offer is out of goodwill and honestly how can one look so pretty after a ranting session? It almost steals the breath from his lungs (and the words from his brain).

 

“I-” He bites his lip, cutting off his sentence. He thinks Kou-chan’s heart is like glass. Beautiful, but all too fragile. And right now, it’s shattered in a million pieces that cut and destroy everything around it. And Oikawa’s afraid to touch them, to bleed red until his skin turns pale and his own heart no longer works. He’s a coward and he knows it, but he knows Kou-chan needs time to heal as well.

 

So he just nods, breathing out a soft thank you. _Maybe some other day._

 

Oikawa awkwardly slides on the jacket, and it smells like fresh laundry and wet snow and _Kou-chan._ There’s a pause, and as he stares at the ground trying not to let the grin threatening to spill out onto his face show, the grey-haired setter wedges into the silence.  

 

“Just to get things straight, I would give my jacket to anyone who’s cold. It’s not just you.” Perhaps Oikawa would feel just a tad offended under normal circumstances but he honestly isn’t because a blush, cherry-red and dark, is dusted on Kou-chan’s cheeks (and complements his cheekbones oh-so-nicely), almost like confectioner’s sugar dusted on bite-sized cream puffs his mother makes.

 

“Whatever you say, Kou-chan.” 

 

His gaze flickers away, this time concentrating on the collar of his jacket askew on Oikawa to make way for his scarf ( _but a little imperfection always heightened beauty_ ) and his words come out stuttered, rushed and deathly quiet. It’s almost fascinating to see how he can scream and then go so silent, like an ever-morphing image or the waves of the sea.

 

“....I-it just looks the best on you is all.”

 

“What?”

 

He meets Oikawa’s chocolate gaze again, cheeks the _prettiest_ pink. He speaks louder, although his words still come in a rush and are a little different this time. (is it wrong for Oikawa to find that cute? Even if it’s just the slightest bit of adorable?) “Do you want to go for a coffee?”

 

Oikawa stares, because it’s in the middle of the night, and the coffee shops are probably all closed. Kou-chan seems to realise this, because the blush that colours his cheeks turns a little darker. “I mean… Some other time. In the morning.”

 

Oikawa laughs, and he knows the grey-haired teen’s only healing, but maybe, just maybe, after his heart’s been mended… He cuts off the thought. He’d come to that when that time comes.

 

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dee: I want Suga's jacket too TT  
> watermelon: i want to hug fatty the pigeon TT
> 
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and we'll try our best to answer all your comments!  
> you can find more of Dee's work on DeviantArt at DeeNotMe!
> 
> special thank yous to the great betas tokyoite_dreams, AkaHoshizora and jungkooktrash guys we love you very much~ the whole thing was oisuga because one of the three really likes oisuga ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be a Chapter 2 (because it is OiSuga after all)!! Sorry for the wait, heh.  
> It's shorter than the previous chapter though...
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this as much as we enjoyed writing it!!

Sugawara Koushi wakes not to the sunlight filtering through the window blinds, and not to his alarm clock. Instead, he wakes to the buzzing of his phone, its ringtone the loud melody of (he hates that he remembers the title) Does Jumin Han Is Gay that Nishinoya and Tanaka had set when he had claimed that he had not heard his phone ring when they called him for some important reason only God knows. He groans, forcing his eyes open (it’s so early the sun isn’t even up yet) and reaching out for his phone, pressing the green answer button without checking the caller ID. A familiar bright voice greets him.

 

“Yahoo, Kou-chan!” _Too early._ It’s like 4 a.m and nobody with a normal sleep cycle would even be sitting up in a futon and blinking blearily at what seems to be a -

 

Video call. It’s a goddamned _video call_.

 

“Oikawa Tooru, do you even know what time it is now?” his voice sounds drunk and vaguely slurred. At this point of time Suga can’t even be bothered to go on a spiel on how normal people need to sleep too and that his sleep cycle is very normal because he hasn’t even opened his eyes properly (he can sort of register the feeling of his left eye half-glued shut by eyeshit) for God’s sake. Oikawa himself looks like he hasn’t missed a wink of sleep, hair perfect as ever and eyes (and smile; in contrast, Suga can’t even find the energy to use his cheek muscles) brighter than the phone screen itself. Behind him, Suga can faintly make out what seems to be a corkboard with a lot of red strings connecting pictures, news articles, and _is that a UFO?_

 

“Nope- Wait, it’s time to wake up! Also, Kou-chan, you sure are the spitting image of beauty right now,” he seems to chatter non-stop, voice irritatingly sharp to the ears of someone who has just woken up. “I might even say that you look as good as me, but the keyword is might.”

 

Suga only blinks at the brunette, expression flat and unamused.

 

Oikawa is unaffected. “Hey hey, remember when we promised to get coffee together?”

 

 _Oh, right._ Suga remembers that night of tears and humiliation and pain like it happened yesterday, though it’s been 2 weeks since it happened. He remembers feeling pain like he’d never expected (not like the flashing pain of, say, a slap; this was the gradual sear of flesh, like being burned at the stake), then finding warmth in a place - with someone - he’d never imagined he’d confide in. He remembers that promise made somewhere between the early hours of day and the late hours of night.

 

“So... You want to go now? In case you need a reminder, it’s 4-”

 

“Yeah, it’s 4 a.m, but you need time to get ready, right? See, by the time we get there it’d be 7 a.m, then maybe the coffee shop would be open. Then we can go get coffee! Fulfil that promise we made! Or, well, you get coffee and I’ll get tea, because I think I’ve drank too much coffee throughout the night, and though I’m craving for more I’m scared it might stunt my growt-”

 

He’s cut off by a loud groan from the grey-haired setter, because Suga did not catch anything he had just said, and it’s too early for _anything._ Amidst Oikawa’s worried questions of ‘are you okay’ and ‘do you feel sick’ Suga lets out a loud sigh and tells him to call later, before ending the call and dropping his head back on the pillow. He can sleep for one more hour. He’s not Oikawa, after all.

 

It’s approximately 5.30 a.m when there’s a loud doorbell ring on the Sugawara household’s door, followed by three loud, loud knocks. And after that, more doorbell rings. Suga’s just about dressed, fashionably enough (and warmly enough) in a fluffy jacket, flannel shirt and jeans so that he seems awake (when truthfully his eyes are still half-glazed with sleep and irritation) but not fancy enough that it seems like some sort of date. His parents are away on some sort of holiday for the two of them (because, and quoting their words: _we can finally go somewhere by ourselves without worrying about you_ ) so there’s no need to feel guilty when, in his weird sleep-addled state, he drops the metal pot he used to cook his great instant noodle breakfast on his foot and curses. The doorbell rings stop.

 

“Kou-chan?”

 

“Yes, Oikawa-san, just dropping pots on feet. You can come in and watch me eat my great noodle breakfast; the door’s already unlocked,” he says as loud as he can in his scratchy just-woke-up voice as he tosses the fallen pot into the kitchen sink.

 

Seconds pass before the door creaks open slowly, a brown head poking in to scan the interior as if someone might have laid a trap that would get him as soon as he steps into the house. Suga watches from the doorway of his kitchen, waiting for the noodles to cool. Oikawa’s brown gaze meets his, and a smile creeps up on his lips before he lets himself in, slipping off his shoes.

 

To Suga’s surprise, Oikawa doesn’t comment on his house, (Suga can imagine him passing off a remark about how clean it was, and he might have been pretty pleased to hear that) only skips past him into the kitchen and opens the cardboards. He rummages through the contents for a while, with Suga barely giving him a glance. He’s always pegged Oikawa to be the type to raid everyone else’s kitchens (it’s in the glint of his eyes). Those eyes immediately light up as they fall on a loaf of milk bread, and it’s with speed Suga’s never seen before that he snatches it up and pulls up a chair beside Suga, already taking the slices out and biting into them.

 

He gives the shorter male a glance. “You could have eaten at the coffee shop, you know. I’m sure they don’t just sell drinks and nothing else.”

 

“Well, says the one who’s eating more than me, out of _my food storages_. Without permission, mind you.”

 

Oikawa only blinks. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’m only doing this because you’re making me wait, though.”

 

“Not really,” Suga dumps his bowl into the sink along with the pot (does he see a dent in that pot?) and Oikawa cranes his neck enough to see that it’s completely empty of its contents. As if offering some sort of solace to his shock, Suga says that he’s “always eaten breakfast faster than anyone” and notes that Oikawa hasn’t even eaten a third of his bread.

 

Not wanting to be beaten, Oikawa makes the effort to finish his bread quicker (and honestly Suga finds it kind of cute when he tries to stuff so much bread into his mouth) but it’s not really working out. Suga gives him an exasperated sigh (though he isn’t really irritated, just more of amused.)

 

“Just hold it somewhere, we’re going to the coffee place anyways. You can eat along the way,” he gestures to the door as Oikawa gulps down all his bread in one shot in some sort of defiant bravado. Oikawa gives him a smug look that practically says ‘look I did it, be proud’, and Suga’s mind flies out the window, cheeks slowly staining pink.

 

Of course, with those sharp setter eyes, Oikawa had to notice, and wiggles his eyebrows in a way that Suga can only describe as vaguely disturbing and also a failed attempt at looking suggestive. _He looks like a meme. I don’t know this person standing in my kitchen._ Suga’s cheeks flare brighter not just from the second-hand embarrassment but also the notion that he knows what’s running through his mind (and that’s honestly the scariest part).

 

“.... You’re disgusting, you know?” his voice comes out slightly more aggressive than he’d like and also a tad quieter but that’s okay, because from the continued wiggling eyebrows on Oikawa’s face it seems that nobody but Suga caught that tone he had spoken in.

 

“Disgusting or not, you know you lov-” Oikawa almost makes the sentence fall from his tongue (habit from too long with people, namely Iwaizumi) but catches himself just in time. It’s a strange feeling having to feel the need to tiptoe around people because Oikawa himself doesn’t really know the word tact around people he’s comfortable with. He remembers 2 weeks ago, and he remembers a lot (and he means a _lot_ ) of feelings jumbled up in his stomach, heart, brain, _everywhere._ He remembers the fragility held in wide, tearing eyes and then the uncertainty. _Where do I stand?_ He knows bridges are easy to break (made of glass and mist) and decides there’s no need for the sentence to be finished.

 

Suga raises his eyebrows, and Oikawa shakes his head, both to Suga and for himself, to clear those thoughts swirling in his head. He pushes up from the table, putting on a grin that seems the tiniest bit forced even to the grey-haired setter, and makes his way past him to the door. “Let’s just go. Then we can walk slowly, because who likes rushing along on a Saturday morning?”

 

Suga follows at his heels, shaking his head, but not objecting. “The way I see it, there’s just no need to rush anyways. The coffee shop isn’t closing for another fourteen hours.”

 

Once Oikawa starts talking there’s no real way to stop him, as Suga soon realises, so he just walks amongst the chatter of Oikawa’s voice as he starts talking about the latest breakthrough in alien discovery.

 

Despite the snail’s pace at which they walk, they reach the coffee shop that Oikawa constantly showers with praise within 30 minutes, which leaves them with more than half an hour to spare before it opens. Suga sighs again (he finds that he does that quite often when he’s with Oikawa) and almost suggests they look for another place that would be open before Oikawa sits on the outdoor seating of the shop. It’s freakishly cold (the cold night air that hasn’t yet dissipated doesn’t exactly keep metal chairs warm) but Oikawa plonks his butt there anyways and continues yammering away. Even after Oikawa pats the chair next to him in a gesture for him to sit down, Suga intends on standing (there’s no way he wants to voluntarily subject himself to the feeling of sitting on a metal chair in winter).

 

That is, until Oikawa cuts his sentence short and raises an eyebrow. “Would you rather sit on my lap?”

 

Suga’s eyes narrow as he gives a curt reply of “no” and sinks into the chair beside Oikawa, hissing at the cold that stings his behind while Oikawa lets out a laugh he can’t hide even with his hardest efforts. Grumbling something about the chair being too cold, Suga wedges his hands (he forgot that he didn’t have gloves) under him, only to yelp, already regretting his decision before Oikawa laughs harder.

 

That’s when Oikawa hears a voice that sounds so weirdly familiar and a girl’s laugh, a voice he’s only heard when….Karasuno won Shiratorizawa, he thinks. He glances in the direction they come from to look for their owners, because maybe he might recognise them from their looks if he couldn’t from their voices. Suga’s gaze traces his, and when Oikawa finds the sources, he is befuddled for a second because they just look so achingly familiar. Suga, however, freezes, cold chair forgotten; these are people he definitely knows (but people he definitely doesn’t want to meet right now).

 

Immediately, Oikawa senses the change in the atmosphere around the grey-haired teen, his silence and stillness uncharacteristic and almost eerie.

 

“Kou-chan what-”

 

The chair screeches and cuts him off as Suga pushes it back, dragging it across the floorboards. “We’re leaving.”

 

“What?” Oikawa repeats his last word. “What about the coffee-”

 

“Screw the coffee. We’ll get it later, or somewhere else.” Suga’s voice raises, louder and louder; he feels trapped, and he needs some way out. Fast.

 

“Suga?” A different voice steps into the conversation, uninvited and also very masculine. It reminds Oikawa of rich, dark chocolate and also fancy tuxedos, yet it carries the mellow, homely undertones of a boy Miyagi-born and bred. Oikawa’s gaze flicks to the newcomer, and his eyes scan his face. The teen’s tan skin is dusted pink from the cold and his mouth is parted slightly in an expression of mild shock. His hair (dark, or so the strands of it sticking out are) is nicely kept under a beanie and his gloved hands are holding…. Another person’s hand. Oikawa’s eyes travel up the other person’s sleeve to see a girl with wide, hazel eyes and coffee-brown hair shorn short at her shoulders. Her pale skin seems a little like snow, though he can tell that this girl isn’t some sort of fragile person by the way her legs are built like a sportswoman’s, possibly a volleyball player.

 

And Oikawa is smart. Gears spin. It clicks in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger!! (though I'm pretty sure you can guess who are the wild pokemons that appeared...) We'll continue it in the next chapter, and there is going to be one! We promise XD
> 
> Melon: Poor Michimiya who did nothing wrong QwQ  
> Dee: There were so many more chances to make sexual innuendoes but I controlled myself HAH


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